The Bloody Ground - Starbuck 04 by Bernard Cornwell Read Free Book Online Page A

heaved up hard, throwing the prisoner off the beam. The man thumped onto the damp ground where he lay still as Starbuck crouched and sliced through the rope about his wrists. "So what did he do?" Starbuck asked Sergeant Case.
    "Son of a bitch!" Case said, though whether of Starbuck or the prisoner it was impossible to tell, then he turned abruptly and strode away with his companion.
    The prisoner groaned and tried to stand, but the pain in his crotch was too savage. He crawled to one of the horse's supporting trestles and dragged himself to a sitting position, then just clung to the timber. His eyes watered and his breath came in small, stuttering gasps. Even Sally flinched at his evident pain. "Guns," he finally said.
    "Guns?" Starbuck asked him. "What about them."
    "Son of a bitch is stealing guns," the freed prisoner said, then was forced to stop because of the pain. He clutched his groin, held a deep breath, then shook his head in an effort to banish the dreadful agony. "You asked why I was on the horse? Because of guns. I was on a detail to unload rifles. We got twenty boxes of them. Good ones. But Holborrow made us put them in crates marked 'CONDEMNED' and then gave us muskets instead. Richmond muskets. Hell," he spat, then momentarily closed his eyes as a spasm of pain made him grimace. "I don't want to go shooting no Yankees with buck and ball, not if they've got minie balls. That's why I argued with that son of a bitch Sergeant Case."
    "So where are the rifles now?" Starbuck asked.
    "Hell knows. Sold, probably. Holborrow don't care so long as we never go to war. We're not supposed to fight, see? Just get supplies that the son of a bitch sells." The man frowned up at Starbuck. "Who are you?" he asked.
    "Potter!" A new and angry voice yelled from the headquarters building. "Potter, you son of a bitch! You bastard! You lunkheaded piece of dog shit. You black-assed fool!" The speaker was a tall, lean officer in a braided gray coat who stumped toward Starbuck with the help of a silver-tipped cane. Sergeant Case marched behind the officer, who had a neat blond goatee beard and a narrow mustache that had been carefully waxed into stiff points. He shoved the cane hard into the turf to aid each step and in between he brandished it toward the astonished Starbuck. "Where the hell have you been, Potter?" The officer demanded. "Just where the hell have you been, boy?"
    "He's talking to you?" Sally asked Starbuck in bemusement.
    "Hell, boy, are you drunk?" The limping officer bellowed. "Potter, you black-ass lunkhead piece of leper shit, are you drunk?"
    Starbuck was about to deny being either Potter or drunk, then a mischievous impulse welled up inside him. "Don't say a word," he said quietly to Sally and Lucifer, then shook his head. "I ain't drunk," he said as the officer came close.
    "Is this how you repay a kindness?" the officer demanded fiercely. He had the stars of a colonel on his shoulders. "My apologies, ma'am," the Colonel touched his free hand to the brim of his hat, "but I can't abide tardiness. Can't abide it. Are you drunk, Potter?" The Colonel stepped close to Starbuck and thrust his goatee up toward the younger man's clean-shaven chin. "Let me smell your breath, Potter, let me smell your breath.
    Breathe, man, breathe!" He sniffed, then stepped back. "You don't smell drunk," the Colonel said dubiously, "so why the hell, forgive me, ma'am, did you throw Private Rothwell off the horse. Answer me!"
    "It was upsetting the lady," Starbuck said.
    The Colonel looked at Sally again and this time he registered that she was a startlingly pretty young woman. "Holborrow, ma'am," he said, snatching off his brimmed hat to reveal a head of carefully waved gold hair, "Colonel Charles Holborrow at your service." He gaped at Sally for a second. "I should have known," he said, his voice suddenly softening, "that you com e from Georgia. Ain't girls any where in the world as pretty as Georgia girls, and that's a plain straight fact.